


The Doghouse

by ORiley42



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Benthan Week Day 2, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, this fic took a comedic turn i could not control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 18:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20232727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ORiley42/pseuds/ORiley42
Summary: Benji's kicked Ethan out. Or has he?





	The Doghouse

**Author's Note:**

> Does this fic count as hurt/comfort? By even a wide stretch of the imagination? No?? Well, in any case, this fic exists now, and if y’all will kindly agree that this slides in under the wire as a sort of third-party emotional h/c with a heavy dose of humor and misunderstandings, I would be extremely grateful <3

Luther opened the door with the face of a man who checked his front stoop’s security camera feed before doing so and was highly irritated with its contents.

“What’re you doing here?” he demanded to know of a very sheepish Ethan.

“I have a good reason—”

“Well, it better be, I gave you this address for emergencies only.”

“Yes, I know.”

“So? Are there nukes gonna detonate in five minutes? Helicopter full of poison gas hovering over the Statue of Liberty?”

“No, it’s not that kind of emergency.”

“Then I don’t know what the hell kind of emergency has you busting up in here like a cat with its tail on fire. I could’ve had an illegal poker game running, I could’ve been throwing a party—this place could’ve been packed with absinthe and women in bikinis!”

“Hush, you ridiculous creature,” a voice came from deeper in the apartment, and Luther stepped back with a fond sigh.

“Hi, Linda,” Ethan offered a tired wave.

“Oh, hi, Ethan,” Luther’s wife bustled around the corner with a smile. It faded once she laid eyes on him. “Uh oh, I know that look.”

Ethan blew out a breath and confessed, “Benji kicked me out.”

“Our Benji?” Luther repeated, brows drawing together, “Benji Dunn?”

“Yes.”

“Little tech boy, Benji, that Benji?”

“He definitely wouldn’t appreciate being referred to that way, but yes.”

Luther crossed his arms. “Ethan, how the hell did that scrawny drink of water throw you out of anything.”

“He didn’t—not literally,” Ethan struggled to explain, “He sent the security system after me. My own set of laser-guided knockout darts! I installed those things!”

“Ethan—” Whatever firm words Luther was about to impart were gently set aside by Linda, who reached past him to take Ethan’s elbow.

“For goodness’ sake, come in,” she towed Ethan kindly along the hall and into the living room (which was notably free of both illegal booze and scantily clad persons of any gender). “Now, do you want anything? Coffee, or tea maybe, since it’s so late?”

“No, thank you,” Ethan said, sitting gingerly on the couch.

“I think we’ll both have tea,” Linda declared. She patted Luther’s arm before he could sit, “Go be a dear and put the kettle on.”

Luther complied, kissing the top of her head as he moved on to the kitchen. Ethan had the strangest feeling at the back of his throat—all tight and discomforting, and his eyes too… Oh, for god’s sake, was he going to cry? No, no he absolutely wasn’t.

Luther came back a moment later and fell into the chair next to Linda’s with a huff. “Alright. Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

“Okay.”

“First, I just have to reiterate: I have a lot of trouble believing Benji would make you sleep on the couch, much less have you so far in the doghouse that you can’t come into your own home.”

“Yeah, so imagine how I feel,” Ethan grumbled, dragging his hands over his face, his eyes. He didn’t want to look at anything. 

“Walk us through what happened, hon, and we’ll see what we can do, yeah?” Linda offered.

Ethan nodded, letting his chin rest on his fist. No need to put up a brave front here. “I was on a mission. Benji knew that. I wrapped it up, caught an early flight, took a cab home from the airport. When I got back…the house attacked me.” Ethan shrugged and thought about hiding his face again, but knew it was no use. “He’s the only one other than me who can do that. And he didn’t leave a message, didn’t tell me anything. He just…” Ethan bit the inside of his cheek until it threatened to bleed.

“I just don’t know how to fix this,” he said in a rush, before his voice could crack.

“Uh…” Luther tapped the arm of his chair in an anxious rhythm, “Flowers? Chocolates? Jewelry? Linda, honey,” he turned to her with a slightly desperate look, “would you like to contribute?”

“I dunno, open honest communication always worked best for you,” she said pointedly, chucking his chin.

“That’s true,” Luther pointed both index fingers at Ethan, “great suggestion. Have you tried talking to the man?”

“He won’t let me talk to him! He changed the locks, burned his phone!”

Luther let out a surprised cough. “What the hell did you do?”

“I don’t know!” Ethan shouted, standing. He saw Linda put a hand to her chest and winced. “I’m sorry, I’m very sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

Linda shook her head, reaching up to take his hand and give it a squeeze. “It’s alright. When you love someone like that, it’s easy for things to get out of check.”

“Ethan,” Luther said pensively, “Did you say that he burned his phone?”

“Yeah. Now, considering I still don’t know what I did, I’m not sure I can fairly call it an overreaction, but—”

“_Ethan_,” Luther cut him off, “Do you know what else that sounds like?”

“What?”

Luther fixed him with an ‘oh, you foolish child,’ look. “It sounds like someone following an evacuation protocol.”

Ethan paused mid-gesture, hand hanging in the air before him. He considered. He blinked. He wanted to hit himself over the head with something heavy. “So, then…”

“So, then maybe he didn’t set the house’s security on you, specifically, maybe he just got the hell out of dodge.”

“Oh.” Ethan’s hands flew to his face. “Oh my god. I’m an idiot.”

“That’s not news,” Luther muttered, and Linda muffled a laugh behind her hand.

“Shit, then we—sorry, Linda,” Ethan apologized, “I mean, Luther, he could be in trouble! Real trouble!”

“Yeah, I agree. Unfortunately.” Luther hauled himself out of his chair with a groan. “Alright, let’s check it out.”

The kettle boiled and Linda hugged Ethan as he passed. “You go find your man,” she said, “but try not to keep mine out too late.”

Luther gestured for Ethan to follow him down a darkened hall lined with picture frames—diplomas, vacation photos, children’s drawings. They came out in an ordinary-looking home office. Luther grinned at Ethan over his shoulder. “You’ll like this, it’s a stodgy old classic, just like you.” He reached out and pulled the spine of a thick red dictionary, and the whole bookshelf it was sitting on swung forward to reveal a hidden antechamber, glistening floor to ceiling with top-of-the-line tech.

Luther sat immediately in front of the biggest monitor, tapping out a few commands to bring up an IMF-secured line and start up a search algorithm. Ethan had barely followed him in before it tossed back a result.

“Huh, easy,” Luther said, sounding a little suspicious. “There’s a hit in the system for one of his agency-registered aliases. Only about an hour away, he’s being held at some nowheresville Sheriff’s station.”

Ethan’s eyes flicked over the illuminated map Luther pulled up. “He was doing some sort of clean up job not far from there, if I remember right. I didn’t think it was anything dangerous…” Ethan trailed off, a grim tilt to this jaw, “I guess I was wrong.”

He spun on his heel to stalk out the way he came.

“Where are you going?” Luther asked, shutting off the computer with irritation—he hadn’t even gotten to do anything cool, just run one stupid search program. Hardly worth the cloak-and-dagger reveal of the computer room in the first place.

“To go rescue him, obviously!” Ethan called over his shoulder, “We’ve got no idea if the people holding him are even real police. Who knows what they could be doing to him!”

_At that moment, in the nowheresville Sheriff’s station_

“Got any crisps?” Benji glanced placidly up at the deputy. “That’s chips, I mean, if you’re completely stuck in American-isms. But everybody’s got bloody BBC now, I figure it’s not long before your lot starts calling ‘trunks’ ‘boots’ and ‘underwear’ ‘pants,’ like god intended.”

“We’re not here to talk about underwear,” the deputy declared, and seemed to quickly regret that as an opening salvo.

“I should hope not,” Benji agreed, looking at the man with the sympathy of one who’s had his own share of verbal gaffs.

Straightening his shoulders, the deputy tried to continue. “You were pulled over this evening for a burnt-out taillight.”

“Blasted thing,” Benji sighed.

“And when the officer—”

“Great lad,” Benji interrupted, waving through the window at the fresh-faced officer who’d pulled him over, “Hiya, John!”

Officer John waved back. The deputy stood up, shot a death glare across the empty office at the man, and then pulled the metal shades of the interrogation room down with a clang.

“When the officer inspected your vehicle,” the deputy continued pointedly, “We found a _dead body_ in the trunk of your car.”

“It’s a rental,” Benji shrugged, “you wouldn’t believe what I found underneath the bed at the last motel I stayed at. These things happen.”

“Murder doesn’t just happen,” the deputy accused.

Benji squinted at him. “I mean, it does though, doesn’t it? It does…just happen. In a technical sense. Dunno how else it could come about except to just happen.”

“This isn’t a conversation about, about _metaphysics_, it’s about—”

“Ooh,” Benji interrupted him, “double points for using a big fancy word, unfortunately, you kind of lose those points since I don’t think it’s being used correctly. I like the effort though.”

“You’re in a lot of trouble, mister!” the deputy shouted, going red in the ears.

“I don’t think I am,” Benji replied, as calm as the deputy was not. “I think this is all a big misunderstanding. I think if you just wait a bit, it’ll all turn out just fine.”

“Not very fine for the dead man.”

“You’ve got me there,” Benji raised his cuffed hands in a ‘what can you do’ gesture. “I imagine he’s had a pretty rough night, poor fellow. But not much we can do about it now. Gotta move on. Now, did you tell me what your name was?”

The deputy paused as he was gearing up for a shout. “Erm. I’m Deputy Bill Garfield. Duty officer tonight, while the sheriff’s out of town.”

“Bit of vacay, hmm?”

“Yeah, actually, her sister’s getting married.”

“Ah, that’s nice.”

Deputy Bill nodded, and then caught himself. “No, it’s not—I mean, it is, but not for you, I mean… It means you have to deal with me!”

“It certainly does,” Benji agreed, “and you’re doing a right fine job of things. Excepting that I’m a bit peckish and am still wondering about the possibility of crisps.”

The deputy stared at Benji, incredulous. Then he deflated, and said, “I’ll check the vending machine.”

_About thirty miles outside of nowheresville_

“Ethan,” Luther said very calmly, “I get that you’re upset, but I wanna make sure you understand that your emotional state does not exempt you from the laws of physics. Or just, you know, the law.”

Ethan, who was going an even 100 mph on a dark country road in the rain, nodded fractionally and said nothing.

Luther, in the passenger seat and deeply regretting agreeing to this adventure, checked his seat belt.

_Back in the station_

“You’ve had your crisps,” the deputy said sharply, banging his palms down on the table defiantly, “Now talk.”

“Right, just, let me…” Benji held up a finger as he tipped the bag upside down, catching the last salty remains. “Okay,” he brushed off his hands, “let’s talk. Any topics in mind?”

“I was thinking we’d start with the corpse in your car.”

“Hmm,” Benji made a little moue of distaste, “Personally, I’d rather discuss reality television, or perhaps fly fishing. Do you have any clue what flies have got to do with it?”

“No!”

“No, neither do I. Hey, maybe John knows—”

“Shut up!”

Benji’s hand fluttered to rest over his heart. “Now, now, there’s no call to be rude. I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“This is not a conversation. It’s an _interrogation_,” Garfield said through gritted teeth.

“Ah. There is rather a difference there.”

“Yes.”

“My mistake.”

“Alright.”

“So, let’s get on with the interrogating.” Benji steepled his fingers, cuffs clinking merrily, “Can you account for your whereabouts tonight?”

“What?” The deputy spluttered, “That’s not—_I’m_ asking _you_ the questions here!”

“Oh, sorry, I have gotten things turned around, haven’t I. But, see, if you’re supposed to be interrogating me, why haven’t you asked me any questions?”

“I have! I mean,” the deputy held up both hands. He took a deep, calming breath, that did very little to calm him. He mentally promised to get his blood pressure checked in the morning. “Tell me about the body.”

“What body? Is this a body of water we’re talking about, because my aquatic knowledge is unfortunately rather limited.”

“No,” Garfield didn’t shout, because he was a trained professional goddammit, “the body of the dead person.”

“There’s a dead person?” Benji asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

“Of course, there’s a dead person, they’re _your_ dead person!” Garfield shouted, because he was a trained professional, but he had his limits.

“People can’t belong to other people, Bill,” Benji said sagely.

“No,” Garfield agreed, “but cars can. And that car—the one with the dead body in it—was leased to you.”

“Ah, sorry mate, I don’t know much about automotive stuff. Not really my area. My boyfriend’s the one who knows about cars.”

“Is that your boyfriend in the trunk, out there?” Garfield leaned forward. Now they were getting somewhere.

“Oh, I hope not, he’d be getting awfully chilled.”

“Why’d you kill him?” Garfield demanded to know. He swept the empty chip bag to the floor. It wasn’t as dramatic as sweeping a lamp to the floor, like he’d seen in the late-night movie he was basing this current intimidation move on, but it’d have to do. “Did he not love you back? Was he cheating on you?”

“Cheating? Your boyfriend’s cheating on you, oh, that’s rough, that is.” Benji winced sympathetically.

“No. No,” Garfield leaned on the table, closing his eyes, “You’re being purposefully obtuse. Do you know what we call that around here?”

“Obtuse, hmm, isn’t that something to do with geometry? Always was my least favorite part of maths.”

“It’s obstruction of _justice_.” The deputy laid heavy emphasis on that last word, partly to drive it home, and partly to remind himself why he was here doing this job, rather than instructing rich spring breakers on how to scuba dive in the Maldives, like he’d always dreamed.

“You know, that phrase has always made me think of a judge with a bad case of constipation,” Benji admitted with a laugh, “Get it, because—”

“Yes,” Garfield said quietly, sinking back into his chair, “I get it.”

_Outside the interrogation room_

“Agent Rogers, FBI,” Luther flipped out a pristine and definitely phony badge as soon as he came into the station, spotting a lone officer on duty, “How’s it going in there?” He gestured to the interrogation room.

“Oh, um,” the officer came to attention and then looked over his shoulder, “Pretty bad, honestly. I think he’s about broke him.”

Ethan blew past the officer before he’d finished speaking, fire in his eyes and hand on his holster.

He kicked in the locked door, ready for the worst.

“Ethan!” Benji grinned up at him, “This is a surprise! What are you doing here?”

Deputy Bill had his head in his hands. Benji had a half-eaten packet of fruit snacks.

“What do you think?” Ethan asked, hand slipping slowly away from his gun.

“Well, I don’t know, do I, that’s why I’m asking.”

“I’m here to rescue…you.”

“Oh.” Benji leaned towards Ethan and whispered, “Frankly, I don’t think I’m the one who needs rescuing.”

The deputy, who was now looking up at them from where his chin was resting on the table, didn’t look like he’d disagree. “Uh, who the hell are you?” he asked.

The moment stretched as Ethan tried to process what was happening. Or rather, all the terrible things he’d imagined might be happening that _weren’t_ happening.

“FBI,” he finally said. Luther stuck his head into the room a moment later, saving him from having to say any more.

“This is part of an ongoing investigation,” Luther flashed his badge again, “This man’s with us, he was transporting key evidence for a case we’re building. Some wires got crossed at the head office, sorry it took so long for us to get here.”

“You could’ve _called_,” Ethan said to Benji, deliberately.

“It’s late, I didn’t want to bother the office,” Benji said, mild as a day on the lake as the deputy tossed him the handcuff keys with a sigh that was partly defeated, partly relieved. “And I didn’t think you were around. Figured I could sort it out with these good local lads, myself.”

“Benji.” Ethan settled both hands on Benji’s face as he stood, thumbs tracing down his cheekbones, “Next time, just call the office.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, were you worried?” Benji tossed the cuffs on the table. “I flipped on the emergency protocols for the house remotely, I thought I was being followed. So close to home, I didn’t want to risk anything. I hoped I’d be out before you even noticed, since you were supposed to be in—what was it? Ghana?”

“Guinea,” Ethan corrected him, “I got home early. But no, I wasn’t worried.” Over Benji’s shoulder, Luther glared at him and raised a fist threateningly. “Ok, alright, maybe I was a little worried.”

“Aw…” Benji looped his arms around Ethan’s neck, “You’re sweet on me.”

“Just a little,” Ethan admitted, taking Benji by the waist.

“You should be careful then,” Benji said in a stage-whisper, “because I’m involved with a very dangerous man who might take offense at your doting affections.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for this man,” Ethan grinned, “But right now, you’re all mine.”

The deputy wanted to do a number of things by this point, most of them involving blunt objects and/or skipping town. He finally decided to made a break for the door, leaving the couple before they could do something that would get him a citation for voyeurism. “Next time, Bill,” he muttered to himself, “just leave it for the morning shift.”

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a comment and let me know what you thought! :)


End file.
